The Aftermath
by SevsGirl89
Summary: Two familiar strangers meet up at the end of the Final Battle. Will they learn to love and trust together?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own anything. Everything except the plot belongs to J.K. Rowling. :D

She sits beside the lake, with hair, tangled and matted with dirt, sweat, and blood, streaming around her face. The tears pouring from her eyes, leave clean little tracks amongst the dirt and grime of war that has settled upon her body. By rights, I shouldn't even be alive to witness this. I should have died there on the floor of the shack. Luckily for me, I was prepared. I think back to the days leading up to that momentous occasion there in that dilapidated building. The smell of honeysuckle and cinnamon, a titillating scent, one I've smelled so many times before within the hallowed grounds of Hogwarts. I don't think she noticed. She never gave any sign. No subtle hint that she was aware of just how much of my attention was trained on her. I wasn't obvious, of course. It would have been unseemly, had I been found out. But him…oh. He knew exactly where my priorities lie. He knew I'd want her safe at all costs. But of course, she would be in the thick of it. I want so badly to run over to her and gather her in my arms. Guard her as a griffin guards his treasure. For that's what she is to me. She's a treasure. One more beautiful than any other. Even covered in the effects of war, she's radiant. A shining beacon of hope. One that calls to me as if it were a Siren's song. I long to take a step closer, to bury my face in her hair and inhale her scent that, as sure as I'm alive, still lingers in her hair and on her skin. I notice her shivering. How long has she been without warmth? Where are her friends? Shouldn't they be here to comfort her? Before I know it, I'm crunching through leaves, sidestepping around fallen enemies and allies alike, my mind set on one objective. Suddenly, I'm removing my thick winter cloak and draping it around her shoulders. She looks up startled, her eyes wide, lashes still wet with her previous bout of crying. She appears so tiny and frail beneath my cloak. But I know she's no withering flower, no frail being. Tiny, she may be, but she's a fighter. A true lioness. I slowly lower myself to the ground next to her, watching her watch me. I know I startled her; she was there when it happened. She probably expected me to die.

Slowly, to avoid frightening her, I loosen my tense muscles, no longer ready to flee, and feel the weariness settle on my bones. For once, probably for the first time since she's known me, I'm at a loss for words. How does one begin to explain why all of a sudden I care? I see her small fingers poking out of the cloak to get a firmer grip on it. She pulls it tighter around her and sighs softly. I know the latter because her breath comes out in a wisp of mist. I don't know how to begin. I've never been this close to her before. I notice a jagged cut on her right cheek. It's caked with blood, and scarlet drip trails down her cheek. Without conscious thought, my hand reaches out of its own accord and gently wipes the blood away. She's gone very still, almost as if she expects me to do her harm. Well, that's not all that surprising, actually, considering everything I've done to her and her friends. Her pupils have dilated; I assume it's in fear. Reluctantly, I remove my hand from her face. I will never forget, even if I live to be two hundred and fifty years old, just how soft her skin was, even covered as it was. I let the regret show on my face. The feeling is foreign to me, and makes my skin prickle uncomfortably. This alone shows me just how closed off I've been over the years. It was the price I paid, and I deserve it, I know, but sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to let go of the past. Stuck in my contemplation as I was, I didn't notice when she moved. I felt a hand cup _my_ cheek and I froze. My first instinct was to jerk back. The only touches I've ever known were violent ones. I stomped that instinct down as viciously as I could. Nothing was going to ruin this moment for me. I start to wonder whether it was fear, shock, or something else that kept her in place when I placed my hand on her cheek. I'm finding it difficult to tell what I'm feeling. Perhaps a combination of things. I raise my eyes and look at her. She has her lip pulled between her teeth, and her brow is furrowed, either in confusion or in determination. It's remarkable how similar the two expressions appear on this witch. Although, I've seen her determination enough to know that her eyes burn with a fire that can only be extinguished by her.

I open my mouth to say something. What? I'm unsure, so I close my mouth with a snap that's only audible to the two of us. This brings another question to my mind and I realize I have to say something. I swallow a couple of times because for some reason, to break the silence seems sacrilege, but I know it needs to be done. I reach up one hand, and cover the one cupping my cheek gently. I know my voice will be raspy. I haven't spoken to anyone in quite a while, and I'm parched, but I manage to get it out. "Where are your friends?" I internally wince as I see a tear fall down her cheek. Just the one, but it twists my insides painfully. Perhaps they were lost in the battle. I look to my right and see figures headed in our direction. I quickly stand, bringing her with me. I grasp both of her hands in my own and speak quietly. "I must go. You will be able to find me, if you need me." With that last, I place a swift kiss upon her cheek, before striding away, allowing the cover of darkness to mask my retreat. I don't stop to look back because I know if I do, I'll never stop.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Again, the only thing that belongs to me is the Plot. Everything else belongs to the wonderful JK Rowling

I watched him walk away, that proud gait he always possessed seemed somehow less intimidating. Well, I suppose seeing said person die in front of you has a way of changing a person's perspective. But what was all that about? I don't think I'll ever get another chance to speak with him again. He'll either end up locked up within the bowels of Azkaban, or he'll be lauded as a hero, which he'll no doubt despise. With my eyes closed tight I can smell the scent of sandalwood that always surrounded him, I suppose that obviously has something to do with the fact that his cloak is still draped around me. How odd. These signs of tenderness coming from a man whom I had only believed hated me with the utmost strength of his being. The only other person he hated more was Harry. _Harry._ The word brings a fire-hot pain shooting through my chest. I'll never see those bright green eyes ever again. He paid the ultimate sacrifice. And Ron…well, that's best left alone. He's never dealt with his jealousy and grief well. Especially not when they are combined.

A rush of sensation overwhelms me. The adrenaline is wearing off, and simultaneously, the exhaustion and pain are coming to take its place. It's an unfortunate state of being, this constant fighting. But luckily it's over now. _Oh, Harry how I miss you. _

I shake my head and reluctantly stand and begin to make my way towards the infirmary. The crumbling walls of Hogwarts shadow the grounds and leave me feeling bereft and exposed. Can a castle feel? I've always believed that she, Hogwarts, with magic flowing through every stone, must have some sentience. My hand rests against her broken walls, and I stumble in surprise. There's something pulsing beneath my hand. It's warm, and rhythmic. Similar to that of a heartbeat. How incredibly odd. I must have a concussion of sorts. There's no logical explanation for this. None. No, I'll keep my fantastical delusions to myself and move on.

I make my way towards the infirmary when suddenly Ron steps in my path. I really don't have the energy for his tantrums at the moment. But we did just lose a dear friend, and as much as it hurts, I need to be there for Ron.

"Hermione, there's a problem. Harry…he's..well.." Ron stutters. I really wish he'd just spit it out. I don't have time for his ignorance. I wince. The sound of his name hurts. And that was a very unnecessary thought. Ron isn't a complete dunce. He's been more useful than even I give him credit for.

"He's what, Ronald?" I respond exasperatedly. "Dead? He's dead. Yes. I know. I was there remember?" Before I can really get rolling he cuts me off. Circe, I hate it when he does that.

"No, Hermione! He's gone. Missing. No one knows where he is."

"Don't be ridiculous. We saw him fall. We saw him!" I shout. There's no way that what he is telling me can be true. It just doesn't make sense. Besides, Harry wouldn't fake this. Not without telling Ron and me about his plans.

I chew my lip and wonder if the Professor had any knowledge of this. He and Harry shared a rather interesting exchange of expressions just minutes before his "death". I shake my head.

"Look, Ronald. There's no way that what you're saying is making any sense. I don't understand how this is helping you, but I need to go get checked out by Madame Pomfrey. And so do you, so come along." I say with the air of someone who knows everything, which I'm quite accustomed to, but this time it's just a cover. I've been shaken, and I think Ron knows that and that's why he simply acquiesced. That doesn't usually happen.

Well, Madame Pomfrey will probably restrict me to bedrest for the rest of the day, but first thing tomorrow, I'm finding the Professor, and he's going to help me…whether he likes it or not.


End file.
